"Yvonne Navarro - One Among Millions" - читать интересную книгу автора (Navarro Yvonne)

complement his partner's rotund figure. The basic features were still there, but now
he looked like a predator, something long and sleek and dark; a panther, slipping
through the night that was her life and ready to ambush its quarry.
"Please," she heard herself say. She wanted to cry but her eyes were as dry as her
mouth. "Don't touch me."
"You don't mean that," Walters murmured against her neck as he grasped her
upper arms and pulled her from the bathroom and into the cramped kitchen. Sondra
tried to turn her head and made the monumental mistake of locking gazes with him.
Immediately she felt like she was dropping through space, an exhilarating dive from a
hundred-storey building and no concern about the unyielding earth rushing up to
crash into her; she would have tilted sideways except that he was pressed fully
against her now, holding her, the temperature of his skin bleeding through both his
clothes and hers.
"Open yourself to me, Sondra."
His voice had deepened and twisted and sounded so much like the other's that a
moan of dread made it past her lips. Shivering violently, she could be lying face
down on a blanket of finished leather for all the heat she felt from his muscular chest,
the hard plane of his stomach, the firm pressure of his thighs. Her heart was
slamming in her chest long before his fingers hooked around the collar of her blouse
and tore it open.
"You can do this for me, make a miracle. Let me be inside you . . ."
"I am not a fucking breeding farm!" Sondra wailed. "Get away from me!" She
tried to beat at him but she was pinned against the wall, the refrigerator, against
something that made it impossible to escape. When his hands slid over her breasts
and cupped them, then began to massage away the chill of his own touch, she
wanted to screech as she unwillingly pressed her hips against his and her fingers
tangled in the heavy locks of his hair to yank him closer.
 "I can make you warm again, my sweet. I can fulfil you. With blood . . ."
His teeth, so sharp and wet, scratched along the line of her neck and sent a spike
of pleasure into the deepest pit of her stomach.
"тАж and fire."
In response, damning herself the entire time, she started tearing at his clothes,
desperate to feel his wintry flesh against her heat, shuddering with the need to cool
the fire he'd started inside her. Sondra screamed as he took her standing against a
kitchen cabinet, then screamed again when she came and remembered she didn't
even know his first name.


"Nicholas will come for you," Sondra said woodenly. It was the first time she'd
spoken the other's name aloud since the night sixteen months before when he had
first possessed her mind and body in a basement bedroom more than 500 miles
away. Perhaps she deserved all of this for letting him bewitch her so easily back
then, allowing him to pick her up in a bar and enchant her into following him docilely
into his loft apartment with the huge windows and black-sheeted, oversized bed. But
how well she had suffered for her weakness! She should have been stronger then;
she should have been stronger tonight. But she was nothing to Nicholas, or to
Walters, a poorly used and ragged feather, blown crazily about by the wind of their
cravings. "He might even kill you."
Her words were slurred with cold, her legs still sticky with the testimony of their
mating. The dull tiles of the kitchen floor beneath her bare skin were freezing, the